


Burning Ice

by Kerica



Series: Walking on Ice [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Medical Torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerica/pseuds/Kerica
Summary: Bucky is a tough person. Yet, even the toughest of people have that one weakness, that breaking point.At first, Bucky gives in to Zola's torture hoping he would just die of starvation and dehydration, not wanting to become what he secretly knows they're doing to him. Steve wouldn't want him to be like that, of course.The second time he's caught, he knows Steve's out there somewhere. Steve strong. Steve will win the war and he'll be free, even if Steve isn't the one to save him the second time around. He knows he can't be /that/ lucky, at the very least. Oh, Steve won the war, but the moment that soldier walks in and tells him the very person he's tried so hard for is dead...Then there's nothing left to live for, is there?The only thing he has left in the world, is that stupid Blond Shadow that keeps him alive, even when he doesn't know the face or name anymore.





	Burning Ice

**Author's Note:**

> As for those additional tags...well...there's a reason why I always click 'chooses not to use archive warnings' because I end up having too many.
> 
> Suicide, Rape, being literally cut open and put back together, killed and brought back to life...I am going to dive into it.

It was hard to swallow. His throat was raw. His mouth was a desert. He was sweaty and cold and hot. Holes were in his clothing, and he could feel his stomach eating itself with how starved he was. Clothing that hung off the frame in drapes…it was something he only ever pictured on…

The broken cries were ripped out of him, his body arching off the medical table as they turned the electrical helmet thing back on. Was his hair frying? The darkness was replaced with pulsing blue and white light. He didn't know how long it lasted, if it took longer or shorter every other time.

Then it stopped and he collapsed in a heap after he had arched off the cold medical slab as much as the straps would allow. They removed the leather bit and he gasped. Sucking in air was a chore. It made his lungs ache and burn. Trying not to hyperventilate, he could only think of the blond punk that kept flashing behind his eyes with a concerned expression on his beautiful face. Was this how he felt with each asthma attack?

"What is your name?"

The damn doctor who was too fat in this world where food was scarce and with eyes that screamed coward broke his reverie.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you disgusting-" he was cut off as the bit was shoved back in his mouth.

"You are…" What was his name again? Zola? He rattled off his draft numbers and turned the helmet back on.

Bucky nearly blacked out when they did it this time. He almost did forget his name, but Steve's face always helped him remember who he was. When Zola repeated himself, they took the helmet off and put a blindfold on instead.

"It’s time for bed, Soldier. We'll continue this tomorrow." Zola patted his head sweetly like some sort of mother hen to their child and shuffled away.

Bucky wanted to scalp himself.

As he was left alone to sleep or not to sleep, he was left to his thoughts. He kept thinking of Steve, his reckless, punk hellion back home. At least he didn’t have to see him like this. Didn’t have to experience the horrors he had seen. He had tried so many times and honestly? Bucky was glad each time had failed. He didn’t want this, not for Steve. Not his Stevie...

* * *

"Why do you fight so hard, Soldier?" Zola asked curiously as he patted the arm he had just stuck a needle into, filling Bucky's veins with something Bucky had no desire to know about and he was glad he had a blind on. With or without it, the walls, while made of red brick, were always dank and grey. It was all stone and cold. He was always so cold these days...

When he stayed silent Zola continued. "A dear friend? Some sweet dame you promised you life to?"

Bucky shifted on purpose. Let him think it was some random girl he'd taken to the dance hall. He would never mention Steve.

"What a shame. She must have captured your heart and body long before we did. Not many fight as hard as you. Only true Soul Mates I suppose. I have read, in the deep tombs I have collected, of something even deeper than that, even. A Soulbond, as best as I was able to translate. They strengthen the other through their connection. The first touch can be any range of things. A spark, a tingle, just a lovely bloom of warmth. I wonder. Did you feel any of that?"

How in the bloody hell (crap, he had been hanging with Monty too much) was he supposed to know? He hadn't felt that with any dame, and it had been way too long since he had met Steve to remember. He honestly didn't care.

“Or was it perhaps that first jolting conversation, when their wit and humor matched yours? You do have a mouth on you. I suppose any dame would have to be just as strong-willed to put up with you.” Zola was tinkering around his lab, setting things up for the day. Bucky's stomach was twisting, but he tried to show he wasn't scared. With him here, none of his other squad was in danger. “Maybe instead of a temper to match, she was the opposite? Sweet and tender, a gentle touch to cool the flames that burn in you?”

Steve could be a lot of things. Often he was both. It all depended on their moods or topic of conversation, really. Why was he even entertaining these thoughts? He was so easily distracted more often than not lately.

Bucky tried to ignore the icy pit in his stomach that told him that the electric jolts to his brain were working.

“Well…let's just hope the distance hasn't hurt or killed them yet.”

_What?_

"Oh, I'm sure that got your attention." Zola scoffed, tone smug, "The texts said if the two whom are bonded are together often, distance and time apart will drain them. It is possible to create endurance of course, like anything else, but not for those whom are new to it."

Oh. Bucky relaxed. Even if he and Steve were, by some dumb stroke of luck, the endurance outweighed the negative effect of distance and time. It wouldn't surprise him, really, if that was how the punk ass survived this long. Yet…what about death?

…Shit. He'd shown interest via his body language. Zola had gotten good at reading him since he kept his mouth shut. Steve always told him he was such an open book, and even if he played the tough guy and beat at him with scathing words, Steve could tell what he really meant by how he moved.

 _By all the seven rings of hell._ This wasn’t going to go well for him no matter what he did.

Zola knew it, too, by how still he had become. "I am sure you are wondering about what happens if one of you dies..." A cold xacto knife dug effortlessly into Bucky's skin at his leg and he hissed at the burning pain, but tried his hardest not to jerk and make the wound worse by accident. "No doubt you've heard of elders dying shortly after their spouse? It is similar to that. Very rarely does the other survive. Usually that tends to be the more strong-willed of the two."

Okay. So…that was fine, right? Even if he'd died, right here on this operating table, Steve was a block headed mule. He'd still go on without him, yeah? He sounded okay in the last letter they'd shared…

"Yes…that's it." Zola cooed, slicing into his foot, "You're shaking and scared. Perfect."

The slow cutting all over his body continued, and when Zola was bored of that, the helmet and the pulsing blue lights came back.

"What's your name?" Zola asked patiently when it stopped.

"James Barnes…" His head was throbbing and he was so dazed, tired, hungry, hurting, and afraid Steve wouldn't make it through a winter without him around.

"Mm…closer. We're getting there, Soldier. Your name is…"

Without meaning to this time, he listened to his own draft numbers be recited back to him.

* * *

Mr. Barnes was still resisting him even after he spoke about Soulbonding. Fascinating. Shmidt was waiting for him outside the lab when he left this time and he closed the door gently, shutting out the whimpers and groans inside.

“It’s taking a considerable amount of time for you to brainwash this soldier.” Shmidt didn’t seem impressed, his arms behind his back and standing tall. “What is the status of the serum throughout his system?”

“See, that is why I am taking my time with this one. Unlike the others, he has shown no signs of rejecting it.” Zola informed his leader, “He has been interesting to me from the start. His defiance is...different.”

An eyebrow perked up, “Different? How so?”

They began walking down the hallway, “While yes, some other soldiers try and fight back, it truly doesn’t take long for them to back down, or comply to preserve their own life. This one fights, but not for himself. He fights for others. He stepped in to prevent that other man from being subjected to this and all he knew was that his fellow comrades left to never return.”

“A rare breed.” Shmidt acknowledged with a hum, “As much as you would like to keep studying him, Zola, we cannot wait much longer. Give him another injection of the serum tomorrow, and if you think he’s so resilient, stop using kids gloves and up the ante on the torture. I want you to _break_ him.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Zola nodded. He was disappointed, but he also wanted to test this soldier’s limits. He of course left out the part about him fighting for someone in particular.

* * *

Something was wrong. Well, this whole situation was wrong and fucked up, but when Bucky heard the door open the shuffling of Zola’s footsteps in the room made his stomach turn. Something had changed. It was too quiet. Why wasn’t he talking? There was clanging and banging, instruments being picked up and metal scraping on metal. The water basin ran and turned off. It was driving him up the wall, but he stayed still. Stayed quiet. Gritted his teeth and his muscles were clenched.

“Now, Soldat, allow me to offer you a drink. Don’t want your voice failing on me now. Not when I need ot to recite your numbers to me.” Zola came over and helped Bucky tip his head up. He made sure he didn’t chug and choke on the water, but he watched the boy drain it all with ease at the same time. The smell was heinous in this room. Perhaps that was something he could do...ah but he didn’t want to risk hypothermia or pneumonia. Hmm…

Soldat. That was the Russian word for Soldier. It sounded endearing and it made him sick. Why the sudden change? Now he was worried, but now while he still felt thirsty, he felt better. The pounding dehydration headache had eased. “What are you going to do to me now, huh?” he sneered.

“So much life. I like you, I well and truly do. I wish we could spend more time together, but alas, I must continue with my work as time is not on my side.” Zola sighed deeply and there was more shuffling. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose at the stab of a needle into his veins and ice shot through them again. How many _times_ was this? Three? Oh...he winced again as a fourth was jammed into him on the other side after a moment. Zola wasn’t kidding, he was trying to make whatever experiment he was doing go much faster.

Bucky shivered and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. It had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

 _‘I’m going to die here.’_ Bucky swallowed thickly. _‘In this god-forsaken side of the world, my death is going to be cold and lonely.’_

Why fight it anymore? This torture had nothing to do with information about the fight. He was a guinea pig and he knew it. What if he died right here, on this slab? At least he wouldn’t be...whatever it was they were trying to make him.

Relaxing, Bucky stared forlornly at the electrical helmet. _‘I’m sorry, Stevie.’_ He thought sadly as he felt it come down on him for the first time that day.

As the blue lights flashed and his scream filled the air, he felt his muscles bulging and fighting on the restraints.

When Zola cut into him, there was still that sting of pain, but Zola ended up cutting deeper and longer. His fingers were cut, his torso, legs, feet; dangerously close to his arteries. The voltage was turned up, his numbers repeated back to him over and over.

He let it happen, willing his body to shut down. He hadn’t had food in a long time. He was weak, filthy, tired...so very tired.

Had he fought too long, and now it was too late?


End file.
